


reunion

by pleadingforclarity



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, yay i love this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleadingforclarity/pseuds/pleadingforclarity
Summary: a dream that i had where leo fitz and jemma simmon's pain ended a season earlier than the writers decided.





	reunion

**Author's Note:**

> set near the end of season 4. enjoy!!

“Who are you?” A voice, raw and pure and scratchy and… English?

 

He turned around slowly, carefully, meticulously, like he considered and analyzed and scrutinized every move before he made it. 

Which he did. 

 

But for some reason, he couldn’t look away from her. 

 

She might have been wrestling two guards- pushing them away, over and over, but her eyes, her _eyes_ …

they _never_ left his. 

 

Christ. He was always the last to look away. 

 

“Goddammit, Fitz. Just look at me!”

 

No. 

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, willing himself to stay calm. He always stayed calm. There was nothing to be-

 

A scuffle. “Subversive scum- don’t worry, Sir, we’ll-”

He raised his hand, quickly and wordlessly, to silence the agent. 

 

He willed himself not to, but his mouth opened and swallowed an intake of breath and said as coldly as he could muster, “Leave us.”

It came out a hoarse whisper.

“But, sir-”

“Go.”

 

He heard them leave, the door sliding shut behind them, and the woman sighing and sinking to the floor. 

When he finally turned around to face her, she was breathing heavily, hands hovering just in front of her face. 

He watched her there, in a pile on the floor, so weak and breakable. For some reason, though, he couldn't bring himself to act on his impulses. What was different about this girl? Why was she here? Why didn't she give up?

 

“Why are you still trying? _Why_? You have no proof! No reasoning! If you’re a bloody scientist, as you say, you know for a fact that none of this makes _any sense_!” His brain was moving faster than he could think, unnecessary emotions getting in the way. Emotions _he_ didn’t even feel. He waved his hand beside his face, fast circles to try to buy himself time.

 

A noise, a rueful laugh, was caught at the back of her throat at the sight of his anxious tick, so he quickly set his hand to his side. Why did she-

“Fitz,”

 

She was watching him again, standing again, rising again.

 

He couldn’t speak with her looking at him like that. Was it… pity? Or desperation? Or _yearning_? 

 

“You-” she sobbed, moving closer to him. He wanted to back away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything. 

“You are Leopold Fitz. Your father left when you were little. Your mum tried her best, but she could _never_ understand you. You met me when we were sixteen at the Academy, and I-” she inhaled a shaky breath, as if remembering something painful, “I thought you _hated_ me, but you just, you-”

“Why are you telling me this?” Why was his voice cracking? He closed his eyes and saw a tiny metal machine in pale, pudgy fingers. Why wouldn’t she _stop_ -

“We worked together for ten years, Fitz. _Ten years_. You were my lab partner and my closest confidant and my best friend. I had never loved anyone as _deeply_ as I love you. I didn’t think I could. And then we joined the team, with Coulson and May and Daisy and Ward and, and-” she paused, standing so close to him that he could feel her breath.

 

“Stop.” Images flashed in his brain-

the look on her face when they had finished a thought,

when they came to a conclusion,

when they figured it out- all pink and flustered and breathless and happy and- wait, what was he _seeing_ -

 

“You were willing to die for me on that plane. You sacrificed yourself for me over and over and _over_ until you were suddenly a different, a better, softer, kinder person that had been there all along and I had left and I _hurt_ you,”

 

She was sobbing, her breath coming in wheezes, her hands held in front of her shaking, as if to protect herself from him. A flash of something, the feeling of his face breaking through the ocean water and back up in cold, fresh air, splashing, her gasps-

 

“And then, when I thought we were finally okay, I disappeared and you didn’t stop hoping but I did, _I stopped hoping,_ , Fitz, but you _didn’t_ stop, you kept trying even when it broke you and we kissed and I had never felt more, more-” she looked up at him, “more _alive_.”

 

“Please.” It was all too much. Memories- were they really memories if he didn’t remember remembering them? crowded his brain. A younger version of this woman’s hair falling in front of her face as she worked, three mice in separate glass containers, her hand in his, her fingers all mixed up with his, her body on his-

 

“And you loved me and I needed you, wanted you, loved you back. You put me back together, Fitz. You stitched me up and kissed away my wounds into faint scars. You held me,” she sobbed, placing a hand on his chest, “you _held_ me and loved me and I need _that_ Fitz back, please. Now.”

 

Her hand was flat on his chest, which was heaving rapidly, in and out and in and out. He had no idea when she'd gotten so close to him. She focused her eyes there, on his chest, before glancing up at his eyes. He didn’t dare move. He couldn't. 

 

Her other hand slowly reached up to rest on the crook of his neck, her eyes following it and darkening. She was remembering something, just like he was.

 

Biochem. Monkeys. Vaughn. Takeout at three a.m. Her head on his shoulder as she slept after a Doctor Who marathon. The Field Exams. A bruise on the back of his neck. Grant Ward. The ocean floor. 

 

His words, gone. Her, _gone_. That curved collar and blue sweater. Her haircut. The pile of hands. Daisy in his arms. A dinner reservation.

 

Six months of torture, relief, then torture once more. Giving her his hoodies. Dinner. Tears. Tea.

 

Truth. 

 

Audio recordings. Symbols. 

 

You dove through a hole in the universe for me! 

 

Her screams. Guilt. Terrible, aching regret. 

 

A handshake. 

 

A couch. A photograph of space. 

 

A mission. 

 

Red lipstick. Cold hands. Her freckles. 

 

Snorkeling. Their bed. His girlfriend. His _everything_. She was everything to him, _is_ everything to him, is _still_ everything to him-

 

He looked into her eyes and saw his world. 

 

“ _Jemma._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> and now they're engaged!!!!!!! thank you for reading!


End file.
